The Alternate Fall
by KetKat
Summary: Before the Final Problem could be solved, Sherlock needed to prove that he wasn't ordinary. Sherlock/Moriarty Oneshot. (Rated M for a reason!)


A/N: This is a warning that there _will_ be Sherlock/Moriarty smut in this fic. If you're uncomfortable with it, please press the back button now!

This is also the first Oneshot I've posted - I've written them before but never had the guts to post them... I hope you like it ;)

Disclaimer: Unfortunately I'm not Moffat or Gatiss so I do not own the two characters having sex in this chapter. LOL.

KetKat xo

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'I'm not my big brother, remember? _I am you_. Prepared to do anything, prepared to burn, prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell, I shall not disappoint you.' Sherlock peered intently into the pits that were Moriarty's eyes, judging, figuring, placing his every word at a careful monotone. He could see a hint of conflict in Jim's eyes, but that was it. That was his only observation.

'You talk big, but nah… you're ordinary. You're ordinary, you're on the side of the angels.' He insisted, the shorter man staring right back, also analysing the face in front of him. There was not a single glint of deceit in Sherlock's expression. His distraction was telling the outright truth. This had to be one of his most interesting encounters so far…

Shame his little toy was going to die.

'Oh I may be on the side of the angels but don't think for one _second_ that I am one of them.' Sherlock's voice dropped to a low baritone, letting his breath dance across Jim's lips, watching the man's forehead crinkle with confusion. They were both searching the other intently for something, _anything, _that would give them the upper hand. And their faces drew closer as this search continued, staring hard at each other, but both were unreadable.

'No… you're not.' Jim blinked with this realisation, staring down at his shoes for a moment. Sherlock let confidence fill his posture, because he'd won. He'd gotten an advantage. But then Jim's smirk lit up his face, eyes creasing at the corners, a mad glee entering his expression.

'You see, you're not ordinary. No, you're me. You're _me_! Thank you!… Sherlock Holmes.' Laughter shook through Jim's body, extending his hand, still looking at the Detective.

And when Sherlock's hand slipped through Moriarty's, grip firm, he certainly hadn't deduced what was coming next. Jim gave his hand a strong tug, sending the stumbling detective right into him. They both toppled to the floor, and Jim found himself writhing beneath Sherlock's lean figure.

Just as planned.

The Criminal did not need to move far to close the distance between them, pressing his lips lightly to Sherlock's. He was only being cautious for now, gauging Sherlock's reaction. And he found Sherlock's mouth parted, only a few centimetres or so, just from the surprise of Jim's antics. But the Detective couldn't find the energy in his muscles to move, or even to respond. It was like Jim's saliva was a toxin, and he'd been paralysed.

Jim used the opportunity to become firmer, stronger as he ran his tongue along the seam of Sherlock's lips, demanding full entrance. He could feel the trembles in Sherlock's body, the indecision, the inner battle. But it only served to motivate Jim more, to try harder. Sherlock would succumb, Jim knew he would.

And he had that chance for a moment, as Sherlock was still too stunned, unable to access his mind palace. All he felt was Jim's lips pressed against his, the pressure of them being there sending shivers down his spine. He didn't want to give in, but he could feel himself doing it anyway. It had only been a second that he'd let Jim inside, yet it'd been enough.

Jim's tongue slipped into Sherlock's mouth, exploring, consuming the Detective. Sherlock was far from ordinary, and Jim wanted everything the man offered.

Finally, after an aching moment of stillness from Sherlock, he surrendered. He planted his hands on Jim's shoulders, keeping his body pinned beneath him. He needed Jim; he needed Jim as the enemy, his match, and his equal. But right now he wanted Jim in a way he'd never felt before: Jim had become oxygen, and Sherlock's body was aching for it.

Their tongues fought for dominance as Sherlock got used to the sensation, grinding against each other, trying to gain the upper hand. Their breaths, their beings mingled together and the centimetres between their bodies closed, leaving no space, no room for imagination.

And Sherlock could feel Jim's arousal, and it only fuelled his own. He felt Jim's teeth graze against his, unable to suppress a groan at the unexpected contact. If this was what lust truly felt like, he finally understood why people sought it so desperately. He pressed his form to Jim's harder, seeking more, wanting _more._

He felt the loss, the cold air in front of him as Jim pulled back, grinning widely. He seemed satisfied, but there was a predatory gleam in his eyes. 'You're not on the side of the angels after all…' he purred, watching as Sherlock shifted, but neither could pull away. Sherlock then smirked, raising one brow ever so slightly.

'I already told you I wasn't, do you still need me to prove it?' He leaned in again, capturing Jim's lips once more, silencing any retort Jim both lost their rationality, only seeking each other's touch. Sherlock's hands roamed over Jim's suit, popping the buttons off as he travelled underneath Jim's shirt, feeling the taut skin underneath. He could also feel his coat being tugged at as deft fingers found their way onto his stomach, onto his chest. His breathing hitched, shifting as his arousal grew. He wanted Jim.

Jim's fingers tweaked his nipple, and Sherlock's gasp was swallowed by Jim's mouth hungrily. There was little noise on the rooftop apart from the rustle of clothing, and the occasional groan from the pair. They were crushed against each other, inseparable now.

But the Detective refused to let Jim have all the fun, hand sneaking lower, past Jim's belt, past the waistband of Jim's trousers, hovering on his crotch. He could feel Jim's chest muscles tense as his breathing stopped, waiting expectantly for Sherlock's next move. The other man grinned, only taking a second to undo the zipper, letting Jim's erection be released from the uncomfortable tent in his trousers. Instantly his hand was on it, cupping it, just letting his hand lie there. He would tease Jim for as long as he could.

An impatient grunt soon emitted from the smaller man, clamping his teeth onto Sherlock's lips, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. Sherlock finally flinched, letting his hand slowly stroke Jim's member. He could feel him shudder from the contact, and smirked into Jim's kisses. His hand moved slightly faster, increasing the pace, the small slap of skin meeting skin reaching his ears.

And there was another groan as Jim's fingers unzipped Sherlock's trousers, beginning to return the favour. They were so close together that their hands met each time they stroked, and their members rubbed shamelessly against each other. The friction only caused them to moan more, still trying to silence themselves as the tension between them grew. Sherlock's chest heaved with his panting, rubbing Jim's member harder. Jim's brow had beaded with sweat, eyes shut with the increasing pleasure. He wanted Sherlock to go faster, but he wasn't sure it was possible. Only someone special could make him feel this good…

'Jim, I'm-' Sherlock rasped, feeling his muscles coil, the blood still rushing to his penis. But he hadn't needed to finish as Jim nodded slightly, feeling his own muscles tense with anticipation. He took the opportunity to speed up his hand's movements, determined to make Sherlock come first. And it worked, for Sherlock shuddered, body spasming as he was sent over the edge. But Jim soon followed, allowing his own release as Sherlock finished him off.

The pair remained silent, contently silent as they came down from their europhic high. Sherlock admitted it had been better than any injections, any pill he could take. His body still rippled with waves of pleasure, and he simply could not detach himself from Jim. They both opened their eyes, looking at each other. Jim said nothing more as he pressed a deep, possessive kiss to Sherlock's lips and wriggled himself away from Sherlock's body. He could still taste copper and Sherlock's saliva in his mouth, smiling to himself in satisfaction.

'Well my little distraction, it seems we will shake hands in hell after all.' Sherlock had no time to react as the deafening crack of a gunshot ricocheted off the surrounding buildings. All the Detective could do was stare, because he knew what to do now.

He had to jump, and that's exactly what he did.

And two years later, back in London, Sherlock spotted the criminal's face on every screen he could find. There was only one message, and he could not tear his eyes away from it, not for one second.

_Did you miss me?_

It took a second for Sherlock to conclude that he did.


End file.
